


woke up new

by scribblingTiresias



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Angst, Family Issues, Gen, Gender Issues, basically gwyndolin has more issues than a magazine stand, flame-related issues, someone help this poor nerd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 04:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblingTiresias/pseuds/scribblingTiresias
Summary: On the morning when I woke up without you for the first timeI felt free and I felt lonely and I felt scaredAnd I began to talk to myself almost immediatelyNot being used to being the only person there---The Dark Sun Gwyndolin spent years alone in Anor Londo. This is a tale of those years.





	woke up new

The first morning Gwyndolin woke up alone in Anor Londo, he raised an illusory sun in the sky. 

He raised it up, bit by bit, carefully weaving together foxfire and mist- and then stared at the wisps of clouds directly underneath it, looking at his illusion with a critical eye. He noticed the imperfections that no one else would- the slight flicker of a cloud at the edge of the horizon, the fine seam where the blue of the sky crossed itself, the glow of one particularly bright star trying to pierce the faux daylight. 

It wasn’t good enough, of course. He’d made it. But that wasn’t quite the reason it dissatisfied him, and for a long moment, he stared up at the deep blue sky, trying to puzzle out the problem. 

When it hit him, he laughed. It was too bright. With his father and his brother and his dear sister gone, the cheery sun felt even more unfitting than it had before they’d left. It was a reminder of times past; times that would never return. 

Still… she might someday return. He couldn’t help but hope. And if she did return, he’d want her to recognise her home. The gloomy moonlight he favoured was too harsh and too cold for Gwynevere. 

He lowered the sun, setting it near the edge of the horizon, and painted the sky with clouds. Dim golden light flickered through them, casting long shadows from the gleaming spires of the City of the Gods. It was a perpetual dusk- the ending of a bright, hot day. 

Fitting, he supposed, for the dying days of a bright, hot world. 

It was his duty, now, to guard what remained of those days. To watch his father’s empty tomb; to mourn the loss of what could have been; to await the snuffing of the First Flame.

He wished it hadn’t been his lot. But what could one fragile godling do to stave off the end?


End file.
